The Sheriff and the Robin
by xNeve
Summary: Everyone in this town has a story. This is the story of a girl named Robin who always wares a hood, who is chased by a Sheriff for her kleptomania; who can't remember why she steals and has a strange fascination with 'that boy Peter' who is 'bad news'. Peter Pan x Robin Hood
1. Robin in a tree

There was no denying that this town was unusual.

It was unusual even before Miss Swan turned up.

Emma sat with Henry Mills, warning him that his chocolate ice-cream was melting and that his treasured book sat on his lap directly under him, in harm's way. Their legs dangled down over the edge of the splintering castle, Henry was more than eager to spill his newest discoveries about operation Cobra and Emma was, well, happy to listen. She still thought he was a little delusional, but she'd rather blame Regina for that.

The kid was endearing… even if emotional attachment wasn't really her thing.

Across the road a police car pulled over, lights blaring and siren singing noisily. "Wonder what's up." She watched Graham get out of the car showing little care as he slammed the door shut and jogged over to the convenience store adjacent to the old black and white. He didn't look over at them otherwise she would have waved.

"It's probably just Robin."

As if on cue, a young girl with dark brown hair was led from the store in hand cuffs by Graham who was having a few last words with the convenience store owner. 'Robin' tossed her head back, and although neither Henry nor Emma could hear what she was saying it was obviously sassy. She didn't have the pleading, sorry attitude of a first time offender in any case and she opened her own door to the back seat as if she knew the drill well.

"Robin? Who's Robin?" Emma asked and Henry didn't disappoint, flipping over to the middle of the book where the 'Robin Hood' titled the page in beautiful scrawl.

"Right here." Henry pointed at the name.

"Robin Hood." She read aloud and resisted the urge to roll her eyes, a habit she was rather accustomed to. Emma had to read the first few lines twice before scowling. "Kid, the book's got it wrong, Robin Hood was definitely a guy. I might be rusty on my fairy tales, but that's history."

But of course, Henry was not convinced and felt the urge to enlighten his birth mother. "No, she is Robin. Listen. Once upon a time there was a girl as free as her bird she was named after. Robin Hood lived in a home carved from an enchanted tree in an enchanted forest with six young boys whose parents had been lost in the wars and so they found themselves lost also-."

"Lost boys…" Emma repeated aloud, wondering why that sounded so very familiar until it clicked that those were the very boys that appeared in Peter Pan. Not her favourite Disney movie but definitely a memorable one. "No, Robin had a group of merry men who helped him rob the rich and give to the poor." She said, surly as ever but leaning over to read the book beside him. Sometimes she wondered if the person who wrote this was completely high because these fairy tales were not the way she remembered them… Most of them anyway.

"Do you want me to read this to you or not?" Henry turned to look up at her with that sassy attitude he had surely inherited from her.

"Okay, sorry. Continue." She crossed her legs to read alongside him.

"Once upon a time there was a girl as free as her bird she was named after. Robin Hood lived in a home carved from an enchanted tree in an enchanted forest with six young boys whose parents had been lost in the wars and so they found themselves lost also. Robin had once been the happiest girl in the world until she fell in love with Peter, the baker's son. For Robin was a nobleman's daughter and engaged to the Sheriff of Nottingham who her father knew would bring her great joy. She found herself without love and cheated of any happiness her father promised her. Peter never forgot his love for Robin and came through her window one night, asking her to escape with him. They flew through the night sky with the help of faerie dust that Peter had kept safe since he was a child. They asked the green faerie to give them a home where they could not be seen by human eyes nor found by any other magic. Tinkerbelle was a good faerie and enchanted a large oak tree for them to live in undisturbed for their life. They were poor now but crafty and when a reward was placed on Robin's head for her betrayal they vowed to take revenge on the man who stole and lied and cheated all of Nottingham. They would steal from his home and from his carriage but, to honour and thank the green faerie who had helped them, they gave all of what they stole to the poor and hunted instead for their own dinner-."

"That's definitely not how I remember the story." Emma said, staring off as if mortified by what Henry was reading but conflicted about telling him what she remembered or pulling up the 'real version' on her phone.

"There's more to-."

"So you think that Graham is the Sheriff?"

"Hmmm…" Henry thought, staring over at the now vacant spot Graham's car occupied less than five minutes ago. "No, he's not the Sheriff."

In all honesty, Henry didn't know who he was.

* * *

Wendy sat with her legs crossed and arms folded in the Sheriff's office, eyes narrowed at Graham who seemed about as enthusiastic about seeing her as she was to see him. It was almost a unanimous belief that Wendy was a hood-wearing thorn in everyone's side. The town suffered her because her parents were respected and well, Wendy has always been a brat.

"You're going to get in real trouble one day. Your parents can't bail you out forever." Graham reminded her with a long suffering sigh.

As it were, Wendy's parents had been informed of her theft and her father had left for the station less than five minutes ago.

There was a flash of white and Wendy was smiling in her seat, blue eyes holding secrets. "My record gets wiped when I'm eighteen. I'm not worried." She shrugged, as if she had it all figured out. Like she could really live a clean life after that, as if Storybrook could ever really forgive her.

Anyone could tell you gossip is exhilarating. Anyone in Storybrook could tell you gossip is life sustaining.

"No, your record will be sealed. I'll know where to find it if I need it." He passed a box of donuts her way which she leant forward to accept, picking out one with jam filling, before sitting back in the chair. Wendy took a thoughtful bite.

"You're always watching me, aren't you Sheriff?" It wasn't so much a criticism as it was an observation, one that was becoming increasingly noticeable. Wendy made a note to check her dad's car for any bugs.

Graham pulled the box of donuts back but didn't seem so interested in them, instead he threaded his fingers together and rested his elbows on the table. "You need to be watched. You do bad things."

"Well, that's just who I am." She said simply, taking a defiant bite only to tear the flesh of the donut from the red middle. It was strange how savage the girl could look when at a passing glance she was almost pretty.

The Sheriff chuckled at the display and Wendy wiggled her eyebrows at him, as if her little show was sexy rather than strange. She wiped the sugar from her hoodie absently as he continued. "I have more faith in you than that. I think… You're a good person, who does terrible things." He decided after a moment, actually smiling at her in an almost fond way.

Wendy looked at him, rather mortified by his analysis of her. She was a liar, a vandal and a thief. And he was a cop. How he managed to see good in her was a miracle if it was true. "See, now I think you're just hitting on me." She teased.

"You're just after my attention, aren't you?" Graham smiled, always willing to play along with her flirty banter. Well, she was a frequent visitor and not nearly as hostile as his other regulars, like Leroy. When it came to arrests, this was one he hardly minded because believe it or not Wendy's company was entertaining. The girl was full of mystery. A total contradiction who would steal from a corner store then volunteer for whatever charities would let her work for them.

Graham thought she just needed a boyfriend to set her straight. And possibly therapy (though she'd done that for six months with no improvement). Art class wouldn't be a total waste either, her vandalism was rather creative. She had a steady hand.

"Ohhh. Is this a date?" She batted her spiky, black lashes repeatedly before fanning them low, gazing at him. "Well, if I'd known that I would have picked out something nicer to wear."

"And I'd be willing to bet that whatever you picked out, you wouldn't have paid for."

Wendy's expression fell and she shrugged, agreeing with him there. She pulled at the pendant on the long chain around her neck, fingers desperate for some sort of distraction when her donut disappeared. Attached to the chain was a small cage, finely crafted and made of gold. Wendy wasn't the jewellery sort, but the necklace had belonged to her mother and it was something she treasured and loved.

It was a habit that Graham had noticed she indulged in often. One that he thought was brought on by nerves, but she seemed so calm. As if this were nothing more than a parent teacher conference to discuss grades, not shoplifting. "Why do you think I'm even half descent?" She asked, gaze falling to the trinket in hand. The gold glinted, catching the sun's rays and throwing them back against the glass of the window. "You don't know me."

At first it didn't seem like Graham had an answer, he was silent. Then he shrugged and shook his head, lips pursed. "I don't know. I've made lots of arrests in my time. More than one would expect in such a small town; but yours is always different. Like you want to be caught."

"Why would I want that?" She threw the most obvious question at him and one that he hadn't figured out yet.

"Attention?" The answer came quickly, far too simple.

"From you?"

"From your parents?" Wendy scrunched her nose at the idea and shook her head as if the thought disgusted her.

"No… try harder Sherlock."

Graham laughed, but decided to play along with her games again. It was much more amusing than sitting in tense silence. "Alright, then… from me?"

"You know." Wendy chuckled and uncrossed her legs only to slump forward to rest on her forearms. "I've always hated sheriffs…"

* * *

Robin knew the woods far better than anyone else; even better than Peter did. They were her backyard, a place where she belonged and a place she cherished.

Perched up in a tree, she pressed her weight back. Robin liked the solid feel of the trunk against her. It grounded her and reminded her of her purpose with every breath she took that ricocheted her heartbeat through the wood and back into her ribs. She slept like this occasionally, back to a tree, on a branch that welcomed her weight and would not fall.

She'd been up there for less than an hour when a deer came into view. Robin heard the pitter patter of its hoofs before she could see the creature.

Quiet as a winter breeze, Robin drew an arrow, grey eyes narrowed on the beautiful creature. The bow gave slight creaks in protest as she drew the string back; one eye shut. She wanted a clean, silent kill if she could have it.

Robin took a deep breath, ready to release, but before she had the chance the deer was struck, dead instantly. Her fingers slipped and the arrow pierced the fallen creature's leg.

Pure panic. Never mind that her game had been killed, something that once would have irked her. There was someone else here. Someone that might know of her ransom and be seeking that very fortune. She hugged her bow close and pressed back against the tree again, willing herself to become invisible.

Despite knowing far better, her breathing turned laboured as she tried to steady her heartbeat and calm down enough to kill whoever came into view. Her fingers trembled as she shifted her hand to her waist to draw another arrow, waiting for the hunter to reveal himself. The slender body of the arrow rested against the bow as Robin drew the string again with a skilled hand.

Perhaps it was an army… the Queen's army… Perhaps this time there was no escape.

But it was only one man. One man that she should have heard as his feet fell far heavier than most huntsman she'd evaded. He paid her no mind though he must have known she hid in the trees, instead coming to kneel by the creature beneath the branch clutched between her thighs.

For a reason unknown to the young girl, respect for the dead creature seemed more important than her own life. In fact, it must have been more important than his own life that she could so easily take with his head bowed away from her like that.

Her grip fell slack on the string as he spoke.

"You have died so that I may live. Forgive me."

Was the huntsman crying?

"Your sacrifice is honourable. I thank you."

What sort of huntsman cried for his kill?

A snarl of a beast in her direction brought Robin back to reality, a reminder of her situation and her leather encased fingers drew the string taut again. Her fingers pressed against her lips as she watched the dirty-white hound. A wolf with one crimson eye growled at her, and the thief greeted him with a turn of her shoulder, arrow tip pointed at the wolf instead of the man.

The huntsman whistled and the wolf's fangs disappeared into its mouth, turning like a trained dog towards him. "If you threaten the wolves you are no friend to me." Still, he made no move to attack her; his bow remained limp in his hand.

Robin didn't speak, her jaw tight to supress the trembling of her thin lips. She'd never killed a man before. She didn't want to start with this one if she could help it. His face seemed so kind and yet his eyes seemed so sad. Youth replaced the laugh lines that should have been etched in at his age.

"If you threaten me, you are no friend to me also." He decided when her aim shifted to his heart once more.

His heart…

Robin watched the man as he set his hand on the wolf's head and whispered to it. There were stories of a man raised by wolves. One who would cry before he allowed himself to harness the flesh of any creature. A man who knew true honour.

A good man and a fool.

"The reward on your head would do me no good, little sparrow." He promised, but Robin was not stupid, she knew better than to trust this man with no heart. He knew who she was, even if he called her wrongly. He had to know. "I have little use for the gold and trinkets promised."

"And how am I to trust you?"

"I have no desire to gain your trust, only your promise that you will not fire that arrow at me or my friend." He pulled a hunters knife from its sheaf, earning another defiant glare and silent threat from Robin.

He set himself down and took the leg of the deer where Robin's arrow stood shamefully erect. Gently, as if the creature were alive still, he removed the arrow and began carving the leg free. "What are you doing?"

The huntsman set the leg against the base of the tree and only when his knife was strapped to his side again did she finally drop her bow to her side.

"Have this." He heaved the deer over his shoulder with its one leg missing, the carcass knocking clumsily against his sheaf of arrows.

"Why?" She asked sceptically and the huntsman sheaved his knife.

"Are you not hungry?"

"Of course. But I have need for more than that." Although not meaning to sound ungrateful the huntsman scowled at her greed. "I have a family."

His expression did not soften but he seemed to consider this. "Then return home Sparrow."

"Robin."

"Robin?"

"It's Robin, not Sparrow."

"Robin." He repeated again as if deciding if the name had any bitter taste to it when he spoke. "Go home. Be with your family." He placed the carcass down on the ground, instead taking the leg he had carved for the girl.

Certainly that leg would feed two.

She did not thank him for his kindness.

Robin let him leave without dropping from her height and waited until the sun began to sink between the trees. Only then did she hop down, flipping her hood up over her head and collected the meat. The journey to the enchanted tree took an hour and the extra weight slowed her down but she didn't mind the time to herself. It let her think about the huntsman who had let her go.

Perhaps it was a trap after all. Maybe he followed her still.

And yet, how could a man who cried for honour ever deceive another human?

The people lied.

She should have thanked him.

This huntsman did in fact have a heart.

* * *

"Don't you ever get tired of being the Mayor's pet?" Wendy asked, sucking the icing sugar from the corners of her bitten fingernails.

"I work for the law, not Regina."

"Oh please, Graham." She scoffed, wondering how he could be the only person in Storybrook who couldn't see how tightly he was wound around her finger. "She's got you on a leash and she's got me in a cage." Wendy withdrew her phone from her pocket as if losing all interest in this conversation. "We're just two mutts who don't know how to be free."

Graham tilted his head subconsciously with curiosity, narrowing his eyes as if he had no idea what she meant. But unfortunately he did. Both of them knew intimately the pain of isolation. They knew what it was to think that there was no one else in the world who could understand them. They were broken in a way no one knew how to fix. Graham, the man who couldn't feel, and Wendy, the thief without a purpose. They both wanted to do right by the other without knowing how.

They were caught in a trap. A prison for the human and a cage for the creature. Withheld in their own world, waiting for something to hold onto. For something, or for someone, to come and make them real again.

Maybe that person never existed.

For Wendy that person had existed.

His name was Peter Pan.

-  
Don't usually write these but I thought I'd give an OC a go~. Peter Pan will feature in later chapters because, despite what it may seem like, Robin and Graham aren't going to hook up.


	2. Robin in the forest

"Tell us a story Robin!"

"Yes! Please tell us!"

"I want to hear the one about the man with a hook for a hand!"

"No! Not that one again Pip! I want the one where the boy kills the dragon!"

The boys gathered around their small wooden table and Peter sat beside Robin at the head. They lived in an enchanted tree that was over ten thousand years old and was thick enough to house them all snugly.

As a home it worked wonderfully. The door was charmed to only let those that Peter and Robin deemed worthy enter. Their kitchen was always filled with pots and plates that needed to be cleaned and the washing was constantly piled against one wooden wall or another. It wasn't the tidiest, but it was home.

Living with Peter and Robin were six young boys whose mother and father had been lost in the wars, too young to be taken themselves. Their town was poor, the Sheriff made sure of that; even the church had little to offer them. They were so young. The oldest was only twelve. The boys slept in one bed that Peter had carved and filled with animals skins, while Peter and Robin slept in another.

Peter and Robin had found them foraging for berries one year earlier. They were not much older, only fifteen at the time. But they could hunt; they'd done so since they were children despite Robin's father's disapproval. Peter knew how to cook, his parents had fed him nothing but bread until he had learnt how to make his own meals. He'd had to steal meat (or hunt for it when he learnt how) and forage for the herbs but he learnt quickly. Good thing too because Robin could barely boil an egg without causing injury.

Peter grinned at Robin with that cheeky boyish charm of his and Robin returned the smile. She hadn't told him of the huntsman she met in the woods, although she really had no reason not to. Peter would probably make fun of her for it before being concerned. It's how he was: carefree and a child at heart. She loved that about him. He wasn't like the other boys who had opened doors for her and held out their hands to help her out of carriages. Peter hadn't been afraid to shove her or wrestle with her in the mud.

"Alright! I have a new one for you." She turned to look around the table. The youngest was Pip, only four years old and he scrambled into her lap at the promise of a new tale. She wrapped her arms around the boy's waist and everyone, including Peter, leant forward to listen closely to her tail.

"There was once a huntsman without a heart-."

"How could he have no heart?" Tootles asked, receiving a round of hushes from the boys who were trying to listen.

"Because…" Robin thought for a brief moment. "Because once upon a time he was in love with a girl who died and he was so sad that he ripped out his heart so he couldn't feel the pain anymore." She decided, although the huntsman she met in the woods didn't seem like the romantic sort. It was just a story, in any case.

They boys seemed to like this response enough so she continued.

"The huntsman's parents abandoned him in the woods as a new born child. They thought the wolves would come and eat him up, but they didn't. Instead they raised him and taught him honour. He learnt to hunt and speak the human tongue, but he wasn't human. Not really. And after he ripped out his heart he was truly thought of as a beast."

"They told stories about him because he cried for his kill and called the wolves his friends. They laughed at him. And one day a man tried to confront him, laugh at him to his face instead. An audience gathered around this foolish man. But the huntsman didn't flinch, he didn't raise a fist or speak a word. And when the was done with his mocking and the crowds stopped laughing, the wolf who was his friend – the one with one red eye- bit the man's throat!" Robin grabbed at her own throat suddenly and the boys gasped. The red-headed twins lifted their hands simultaneously to their necks as if they could feel teeth on their necks. "Oh, the people still gossip about him. But they are fools. They say the man is a wolf and if you don't know honour, he will teach it to you."

The room fell into appropriate silent as everyone considered the ending. It was shorter than usual, and not nearly as exciting. But it was entertaining none the less. "What was the huntsman's name?" Nibs asked with a yawn that said that it was probably nearly midnight.

Again, Robin had to think. She could make one up easily, but she decided to tell the truth. "No one knows…"

In bed, Peter waited until the chorus of distinct snores began before he dared speak about the story. In the dim, candle light he looked older, nothing but skin and shadow without the obvious dimples and rosy cheeks so evident in the sunlight. He could look so young; so innocent. "Where did you hear that one?" He whispered, head pillowed against one knobbly elbow. His voice was a beautiful thing, full of quiet laughter.

"It's an old tale. My father told me." She lied, brushing her fingers through his curly, honey-coloured hair. Really, she'd first heard of the heartless hunter in a bar sitting on the outskirts of their old town. Peter probably would have laughed off her encounter with the huntsman, but going into town was usually a mission for the boys. The Sheriff had guards who looked for her at all hours. It had only been a year since she'd run after all.

"Did something happen today?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well…" He chuckled, hand reaching under the blanket in search of hers. "That deer you brought in only had three legs."

She sighed, letting his hand find hers and threading their fingers together. "I will tell you the story later. I am not sure of what to make of it myself."

Peter's scowl looked fiercer than ever in the dark. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Patience Peter." Robin hushed him.

"No." He all but whined. "I want to know."

"You are such a child. I will tell you in the morning."

Peter knew when he was fighting a losing battle, and their hisses caused Nibs to snore just a little louder, a sign that he was waking up. "Fine." He rolled onto his side, a gesture that reminded her just how young he thought he was.

Robin blew out the candle and all that was left between them were unspoken words and the nostalgic snick of wax.

* * *

'Welcome to Storybrooke', the dented sign read.

Peter sneered and rubbed at his freshly shaven chin. This is where it was happening. This is where Robin was. There was magic here. Not the abundance that came from their land, but a subtle sort.

He had thought his world was lost to him when he was thrown out. He though he'd lost them forever. Until one morning, that is. When he woke up and went to the mirror only to find something that he'd never before found on his skin. Stubble. Peter Pan, the boy who had been cursed forever to never age another day had stubble. He'd stood there for close to ten minutes stroking his cheek, chin, all over, to see what had changed and if it was true. Could he really have been a day older?

He had laughed in his little apartment until tears pricked his eyes and his cheeks were a deep red. How wonderful it could feel to grow older when for the past twenty eight years his face had not even held a single laugh line.

What's more, that meant something was happening.

Until that day, he'd lived in New York City; quite the place to wake up in after being hurled from a fairy tale.

Life had certainly not been smooth. Video cameras made stealing difficult. He'd had to rely more on pick pocketing since half the time he tried to knick something from a store he was caught and chased. The police couldn't find him and really they had better things to do then to chase an unidentifiable thief, thankfully.

So on the morning that he had found himself one day older he knew it was time to go home. But where was that exactly?

The moment he left his apartment he felt a gentle tug and whisper in the air.

'Maine' it had said, and although magic should not have existed in this world, Peter knew that was where he had to go.

There he stood, outside of his car, admiring the sign and wondering if this truly was just some trick or spell. But in the end, did it matter? If he died his curse would be undone and if he lived, well, he might just see Robin.

He touched the sign, fingers tracing the lines experimentally, as if waiting to be shocked or thrown back. But he was not rejected. He hopped back into the black, rental car that he had no intention of returning and took off down the chalky path into Storybrooke, Maine.

* * *

Robin made sure she was up before Peter so that she could slip out and hunt early. She just needed more time to think.

The air was cool, but not unpleasant considering how early it was.

The scent of sugary grass and earth was one that followed her home every day, far lovelier than any perfumes she could have bought from the markets.

Robin headed back to the same tree she'd been perched in for hours the day before, purely because she thought it was a good spot. Not because she hoped to see the huntsman again. No, not at all. That would be foolish for a number of reasons.

And if she did it was only because she wanted to thank him.

She sat in that same tree, carving a perfect ring of green apple skin and listening for footsteps or the fall of hoofs. When the sun was well and truly a part of the sky again she lay back, tossing the apple core over her shoulder.

Her boots clunked noisily against the ground as she hopped down, out of the tree and she began making her way into town. If nothing else, she could at least buy something for their lunch.

Along the road there was a tavern, one that Peter sometimes went into to trade in but one that she was not meant to go into because it really was men only. Well, men and 'painted women' who pleasured those men. She had little love for the people inside of that place anyway. The bartender had a dirty face and hair growing out of his great nose. And all the men inside of that place did was eat and drink and then puke up their weeks wages.

She was honestly glad she didn't know a man so vulgar that he would waste his time in such a place for any means other than trade.

When the tavern came into view she knew she was getting close and pulled her navy hood up over her head. Her shoulders were broader than most girls her age, and with her face covered and cloaked body she could almost pass herself off as a young boy.

The tavern seemed livelier than ever. There were shouts and laughs and then silence as Robin walked by. She lifted her head slightly and tried to peer in to see what exactly the fuss was about when the door opened and out walked the huntsman with blooded hands.

Now that he was there in front of her she didn't know what to say. A greeting was certainly in order, but how could she possibly speak of anything other than the blood on his hands?

Not for the first time since meeting him Robin began to fear his character and who exactly she was pursuing. For surely this man with blood on his hands, who has a wolf as his companion and has his meals in that tavern, could be nothing but bad…

"Are you hurt?" She blurted out, pulling her hood back so that it curled around her neck.

There was a chorus of shattering glass and more shouts. The huntsman looked over his shoulder at the tavern again. He only spoke one word to her that acted like a bullet, shot straight into Robin's feet as she pounded through the woods.

"Run!"

* * *

Wendy was meant to be in school on Wednesday, but of course she wasn't. That being said, she really had nothing better to do. he had very few friends and liked it that way, then complained when she was bored and had no one to talk to.

Honestly, shop lifting today would be a bad move. Her parents were disappointed in her already, kind as they could be. She sighed, passing the convenience store, the pharmacy, the gas station… until she ended up at Mr. Gold's pawn shop. She looked through the window curiously.

Mr. Gold didn't exactly have the glowing aura of a good man. He had a rather terrible reputation honestly, and Wendy knew that her parents didn't want her talking to that man. Didn't matter. The sign said 'closed' anyway, and she wasn't about to break in.

"Were you interested in anything?" A voice asked from behind her and Wendy jumped. She hadn't heard footsteps behind her, which one would have expected from a man with a walking stick. It was like he had appeared out of nowhere (though that would be ridiculous).

"Huh?" She asked intelligently. "No."

"Are you sure? I have quite the collection." His smile made Wendy want to shudder. Golden teeth, skin stretch taut. This man certainly looked deserving of his reputation. "My, what a lovely necklace." He commented when Wendy was caught staring for just a moment longer than she should have.

She looked down at the golden cage dangling around her neck and shoved it into her grey trademark hoodie. Mr. Gold chuckled and stepped beside her to open the shop. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"No." Even to her own ears she sounded defensive. Not that it mattered, it was none of his business whether she was at school or not.

"Skipping class, are we?" He laughed in a way that sent chills down Wendy's spine and she had the most awful sensation of de-ja-vu. "Not a good habit. Your secret's safe with me, though."

"It's not a secret." She spat, entirely meaning to be as hostile as she was coming across as.

Mr. Gold quirked a brow at her tone and turned the key, letting the door swing open on its own with a gentle creak. Wendy's eyes flickered inside for only a moment when a light from inside the shop caught her eye and she allowed herself to noticeably lean forward to get a better look into the store without crossing the doorstep.

An ornate, golden mirror sat on an antique dresser, reflecting the sunlight directly into the teen's eyes as if beckoning her closer. And for the second time today Wendy was struck with a sense of de-ja-vu.

"I think, maybe, we've gotten off on the wrong foot, dearie." He extended his hand into the shop, a welcoming gesture. "Please. No pressure to buy anything, but if you see something you like I can make you quite the deal." And when he smiled Wendy could see those nasty, golden teeth again. "Besides." She narrowed his eyes but decided to hear his reasoning. "It's not like you have anything better to do."

Now, normally Wendy would have stormed off or at the very least taken offence. But he was right and she was bored. This town was boring. And well, Mr. Gold was interesting. So Wendy actually scoffed, and when she scoffed the slightest of smiles twitched across her face. "I don't have any money… So it's your time…."

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do either." He said in a friendly sort of way that Wendy was almost fooled into believing was genuine. But she still had a bad feeling about this man… like he was trying to con her into something horrible.

"How much is that mirror?" She pointed to the golden mirror that had caught her eye before. Mr. Gold followed her finger with vague interest.

"Interesting taste. Forgive me, but you don't particularly strike me as someone too concerned with appearances." Of course Mr. Gold had meant that in an entirely open way and while Wendy could have been seriously insulted, she decided to take it as a compliment in that she wasn't particularly vain.

"I'm not. How much?"

Mr. Gold considered her question.

"Ahh, probably more than you're willing to trade me."

* * *

Robin sprawled out inelegantly at the base of an old elm, deep in the forest and an hour's journey from her home. She was panting and aching, though the huntsman seemed as though he could have run for much longer.

"You're an outlaw?" She asked between breaths, staring up at the man in obvious disbelief. It was as if she couldn't conceive of a world where he was anything other than the noble anti-hero she'd built him up to be.

"I am now." He sat beside her at the stump of the tree, hushing the wolf who seemed to remember little Robin perched in her tree and didn't like her in the least. Really Robin could return the sentiment. If this wolf one day rolled over dead she would show no sympathy in skinning it and feeding it to her family.

Somehow she thought the huntsman wouldn't like that.

"Are you injured?" Dark eyes flickered over to his sticky looking hands.

"Not my blood." He admitted, although Robin had guessed as much. She looked over at him, unclasping her hood so that it rested on her shoulders in a neat bundle. "If I have inconvenienced you I am sorry for it." It seemed as though he had no intention of staying and speaking with her after all.

Before the huntsman could make a move to stand Robin said "they say you have no heart." She said it mildly, like an afterthought, but her eyes betrayed her with their intense curiosity.

At first the man said nothing and then he lifted his hand to rake it through the fur of his wolf. "And do you believe what they say?"

"I don't know… Can a man live without his heart?"

The huntsman seemed to find her naivety amusing and gestured with his head to his chest, eyes meeting hers after this silent order. "See for yourself."

And Robin, rather boldly, did just that. She stretched her hand out and pressed it to the huntsman's chest. While he may not have looked or sounded changed from their run his heart was hammering away in his chest.

"Feel anything?"

"Of course…"

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, I think I'm glad." She laughed, although in all honesty she had held onto the slightest of hopes that the rumours were true. Now he was just a man.

But he was still a man, and that's why she was so attracted to him. As sweet and fun as Peter could be, he was a boy (most likely he would always be one) and Robin had never really known a man before. There were men, by definition, in her village. But none like him, none with such nobility and honour.

She knew she wasn't meant to fall in love with this huntsman. But a part of her certainly fell in hope with him. She hoped he would live up to his legends and live freely and wonderfully. Because that freedom is something she had taken the night Peter came knocking on her window. And she gave up that same freedom when they took in the lost boys. Her merry little men that tied her too that tree.

Still, she thought the huntsman needed a place like she had where he could be free and protected. Everyone needed a place. Even if it was just a small home in the middle of a forest.

"I still don't know your name, though you know mine." She reminded him though she found herself caught off guard by her own question and his willingness to answer it.

She was lost, concentrating on the way his thin lips curved when he smiled, parting to reveal straight, white teeth when he answered. She was so flustered she almost didn't hear his answer.

"Eric."

* * *

The name Eric was taken from the light novel 'Snow White and the Huntsman where he was called by the same name.

Hope you enjoyed :)


	3. Robin and the mirror

Wendy decided she'd had quite enough of Mr. Gold when he refused to tell her how much the mirror was worth. Instead he'd offered to make her a different deal. He'd said he would trade her the mirror for the simple, golden necklace around her neck.

That mirror was obviously of a higher value, but Mr. Gold seemed so fixated on her little trinket that she grew suspicious. She asked her mother that night where she'd gotten the necklace from, but she couldn't remember. Her answer to Robin was 'you've had that charm as long as I can remember'…

Funny thing, memories…

It was her most prized possession and she couldn't even remember her mother giving it to her, though she's sure that's where it had come from. If not, then who could have given her such a thing?

Wendy played with the long chain thoughtfully, tugging it around and looping the gold around her finger until it was constricted, only to unwind a moment later. She knew there was something special about the necklace, but she couldn't remember what…

Though in the same way, that mirror felt important to her. She didn't think she would be complete until she had it in her possession.

Perhaps she could steal it; though Mr. Gold would surely know.

There seemed no way to obtain the mirror without surrendering her cage.

Such a strange necklace, it was. Like it was protecting her from something, or someone; though she could never explain it in that way. Somehow Wendy knew that if she took it off something bad would happen.

And once upon a time she would have been right about those fears.

Mr. Gold had found himself with a rather odd visitor that morning who had flung his door open and hurried over to the counter. "I have no time for tricks today. What would you trade me for Robin's address?" Peter asked, knuckles white where he clenched the counter.

His green eyes were so intense that Mr. Gold found himself laughing long but quietly. "My, my." He admired the man before him. He knew Peter, of course, as he knew everyone in this story. But he also knew that he was not cursed and yet he had not aged a day. Most curious.

"Please." He blurted out, begging shamelessly for a chance to see Robin again.

"An address was it? It will do you no good, dearie." He limped around the rectangular, glass counter filled with books, rings and trinkets that may once have been magical. "That spell you cast is sealed inside the pendant gave her, and as long as she wears it you will never see her again."

Peter was always impulsive. He was impulsive when he dragged Robin from her home and was impulsive when he went up against Regina, the evil Queen. And again, he was acting on animal instincts when he grabbed Mr. Gold's jacket and snarled at him. "Then make her take it off!"

Mr. Gold now looked at Peter with a trace of impatience then pushed him back with a measured shove. "And what would you give me in return for this favour?"

"Anything. What do you want?"

"Information. I want to know how you found our quiet little town when my curse was designed to keep everybody out." Mr Gold said, leaning over his counter with a chilly smile. He could have lied, pretended he had no idea who Peter was and insisted his name was 'Mr. Gold', but Peter had come from the outside and found his way here. Perhaps the curse was weakening faster than expected, but Mr. Gold had a feeling something else was playing up, and he would find out what it was no matter the expense.

Peter didn't even hesitate or think about how silly it sounded to admit. "A voice in my head told me."

"Ah…. A voice in your head directed you all the way out here?"

"It's the truth…" Peter narrowed his eyes; sure that Mr Gold would not break his deal. He was being honest after all.

"And you asked no one for directions?"

"Of course I-."

"Who?"

Peter hesitated. "I don't know his name… but he said he was a writer. Planning a trip down here I think, to visit an old friend."

"Did he give you any names?"

"Wasn't my business, so I didn't ask."

Mr Gold considered this information with pursed lips and a grim face that Peter might have been concerned about if he knew the extent of his power and how great something had to be to worry the Dark One.

"Now will you please help me?"

"Of course Mr. Pan. Give me three days, that's all the time I will need."

On their walk back through the crisp, browning forest Robin had spoken openly about her family. She told the huntsman about each of her merry little men and spoke fondly of Peter as her partner. He listened with a vague look that told Robin that he was paying attention but that he didn't really care enough to comment. It was a little off putting but she blabbered on anyway.

"Tell me about your family," she requested with her eyes focused on her scuffed boots, as if she were shy in asking for such a bold story.

But Eric didn't seem to think much of it and gestured with his hand to the wolf, who seemed to know he was being spoken about. "The wolves are my family."

In all honesty, Robin didn't understand how Eric could really have been raised by wolves. She'd heard stories, whispered through plush lips or shouted gaily in taverns, but how could such a thing be reality? She didn't understand.

"Wolves are what they are. They aren't like humans; they have honour and they don't deceive one another." Eric seemed to think there was nobility in that, and Robin wished to believe it too, though, perhaps for the wrong reasons.

The he stopped suddenly and turned sharp to look over his shoulder. The forest was dry that afternoon with the tell-tale cold that promised winter would soon hang over them like an ominous, snowy cloud, bringing with it sickness and hunger like it did every year to the realm.

"What's wrong?" She asked, following his gaze and shifting slightly closer to his side. The wolf seemed to notice her movement and bared its fangs, snarling which caused Robin, already on edge, to jump away. Her hold on her bow tightened and her hand found its way to her sheaf, pulling loose one arrow with deft movements.

Whatever was out there, she couldn't see it, but perhaps she could kill it anyway. To Robin, archery was as simple as the rhymes she'd learnt at her mother's knee, easy to learn and something she'd never forget.

"Eric, what do you see?"

Then he started forward and Robin, who was startled enough by his sudden stop, had to stumble after him, still throwing glances back over her shoulder as if she might see some beast descending on them.

"Eric-."

"Do you know the story of the scorpion and the swan?"

Robin scowled, turning once more to see behind her before shrugging. "Are you really going to tell me a story now?" She sounded almost offended, as if he were implying that she were a child. "Surely I know a better one. The boys all love my stories."

He ignored her tone and spoke in a smooth lull that could have sent her sailing into dreams if she were laying down.

"Once upon a time, a Scorpion asked a Swan sitting on the bank of a large river to carry him across to the other side. The Swan was afraid of being stung by the Scorpion whose poison would kill him in moments, but he reasoned that the Scorpion would not harm him, for then he would drown. So the Swan took the Scorpion on his back, but during the journey the Scorpion stung the Swan, sealing their fates. In his last moment the Swan asked the Scorpion 'why have you done this?' And the Scorpion answered, 'it's my nature'."

The moral of the story was simple enough, though Robin thought she was missing something. Everything around her grew colder the moment he stopped speaking. "Why are you telling me this?"

Eric's face turned grim, his brows drew together tightly and he reached to his side for his hunting knife. For the second time since Robin had laid eyes on the huntsman she grew weary of him. She took a step away, placing a more comfortable distance between them in case she had to run; her heart was beating like the warning drums of war. Every sense told her that he was the scorpion, that she would be stung.

Though in their case, perhaps a foolish robin trusted a wolf.

"Because it's the nature of some people to be bad, no matter their fortune."

Her fingers found an arrow, though she reasoned that she would be dead should he turn his dagger on her. She was not as strong as he was, and would never be quick enough to shoot him before he slayed her. She had no sword or even a knife to defend herself with. Perhaps she could use the tip of the arrow to stab him before he attacked. No…

Running seemed like her best bet.

Her breath was stuttered as he reached one hand out towards Robin, and her face crumpled in terror. "Stop it!"

The howl of his wolf is what set her off and she tried to bolt, only to be grabbed by the huntsman with inhuman, beastly strength and pulled back to his side, "calm yourself!" He snapped, tugging her close to him and settling the dagger harmlessly against her middle. "We are being followed."

For a moment Robin lost the ability to breathe as she struggled, kicked and shrieked, "what's going on? What the hell are you doing?" Was this the huntsman's plan? To sell her back to the Sheriff of Nottingham and claim his reward? With one swift movement he locked his arm around her back and held her close, shielding her face from view. His wolf growled at the four men in iron armour who approached with swords and banners.

The Queen's men…

"Huntsman, slayer of man and friend of the wolves," they addressed him and Robin felt herself gasp though he held her tight. Why should she be surprised, she wondered? While she had a heavy price on her head, there were surely bounty hunters searching to find their fortune by bringing in the infamous man of the wolves. Suddenly his embrace felt more reassuring than constricting.

"The Queen demands your presence," one of the steely men hissed through his armour.

Robin was in the clear, and though her friend was surely to be locked up for his transgressions she couldn't find enough sympathy through her relief to offer him a promise of protection. She would not fight these men for him, not when the lost boys needed a mother. She would not fight anyone she didn't have to.

And Eric knew this, it seemed, for he loosened his hold on her. "Go." This was the one word that acted like a bullet, shot straight into Robin's feet as she pounded across the landscape, through trees that scraped her face and rocks that tripped and disoriented her.

It was not until she had run a great distance did she stop, panting and choking back sobs of fear, relief and remorse. She knew she had to go back for him… though he would not have held it against her for running. He had told her to go.

She should have turned back, she should have looked for him… but they were the Queens men and they were wildly roaming her forest. This was where her family lived.

Without looking back Robin sprinted towards her home, leaving the huntsman to his fate, chanting the same mantra in her mind that a travelling man selling mushrooms had once told her.

You don't abandon family.

Wendy had made it through three periods before deciding again that she had no future and that hanging around in a classroom full of judgemental, prissy girls and stupid jocks was doing her no good. Instead she walked with her earphones in her ears and hood pulled up towards the park with that one strange apple tree planted right in its centre.

She plucked one free and bit into it before finding a park bench and taking a seat. It was irritatingly bright today and there was a horrid glare that followed her wherever she looked. At this point she didn't really have anywhere to go. Home wasn't an option, her mum was there. School was out of the question, and anyone in this town would report her if she hung around on the streets.

At least the park was quiet.

That's where Mr. Gold found her the next day, staring off into space and fiddling with that long chain with one hand and clutching an apple with the other.

"Still in the habit of skipping school, I see." He said when Robin pulled her earphones out and wrapped them around her dated mp3. She wasn't taken by Mr. Gold at all, and showed that with the roll of her eyes she had first granted him.

"Can't be helped. I suffer from learning induced narcolepsy, so school's the worst place to be." That was a practised lie that always amused Graham. "Aren't you meant to be working?" She asked back in an almost deadpan. Though she couldn't imagine how much money he could possibly have made in that little pawn store of his.

Mr. Gold pointed with his stick over towards the street. "Granny's. Thought I'd treat myself to a little lunch. I'm on my way back now."

Wendy had stopped caring after 'Granny's', and went back to her fiddling. Seeing him just reminded her of that golden mirror that she wasn't able to buy and the frustration that came with it. She tugged on the chain a few times that hung loose around her. It almost felt too tight at times, impossible as that was. Like a leash, restraining her…

"What's so special about my necklace? That mirror's got to be worth so much more."

Mr. Gold gave a simple shrug of his shoulders and took a seat next to her, cane in hand and a wintry smile on his face. "Why don't you tell me? You're the one that's always playing with it. You're the one who won't let it go."

"Yean, 'cause it was my mom's," Wendy said. It was a lie, but not a bad one… and if anyone were capable of deceiving Mr. Gold then he might have believed her.

"Well, I can't tell you what's special about your cage until you let me look at it. But I can tell you about the mirror you're lusting after."

Wendy didn't think 'lusting' was quite the appropriate word and her glare said just that. But she was curious, so she held off her criticisms or any denial so that he would tell her.

"It's not a long story. They say that if you look hard enough through the mirror it will find the person you are looking for… even if you don't know you're looking for them."

It was a novel thought, and secretly Wendy loved stories like these, though she seemed to have no one to share them with. The teen hid her curiosity with a raise of her brows and lips pursed, as if she was sceptical about the tale.

"You're crazy, man," She said, slumping down on the bench.

"Maybe," Mr. Gold agreed with a small laugh and leant closer to her, "but I have another interested buyer." Robin shot him a look that said more than words ever could. "He was in this morning."

Suddenly he'd turned this into a competition for her. Purposefully, no doubt. She would have to choose soon whether she wanted the silly, old mirror or risk forfeiting it to the stranger.

"Who? Do I know him?"

"You might… if you saw him."

Robin opened the little wooden door that to any ordinary person looked like the continuously growing bark of a tree. "Peter!" She called out, raspy and flushed.

Peter, as it were, had all the children gathered around him and was telling the story of how a great chief once slayed an evil witch doctor but his headdress dropped off when he heard Robin call out to him. "Robin, what's wrong?" He'd heard the unease in her tone and stood up.

The lost boys peeked out from behind him, all concerned and openly curious. "What happened Robin?" Tootles asked.

"Robin, are you crying?" Pip asked.

"Boys, let's go play outside." Little John said, oldest and by far the most intuitive.

Peter embraced Robin who thought she might collapse from the guilt weighing in her chest like concrete blocks. Her family was safe, no one had found them. Now all she could feel was the grief of having her new friend taken and abandoning him when he had protected her identity.

"Peter…" She whispered, clinging back to him as he kissed the side of her head and ran his hand in circles on her back.

"Robin, it's okay…" In honesty, Peter was not great at dealing with tears. When it was the boys crying he tried to make them laugh away their sobs. He didn't really know how to support his crying partner who at times seemed tougher than him. She never really cried…

"What happened?"

For a long moment Robin couldn't speak. She sniffed and coughed and sobbed… and then she began her tale…


End file.
